


The Thousandth Man

by frostian



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Gen, Spoilers up to season 3.02
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2007-11-06
Updated: 2007-11-22
Packaged: 2021-03-02 00:33:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 3
Words: 15,378
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23506183
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/frostian/pseuds/frostian
Summary: Sam and Dean join Bobby on a desperate hunt for a creature that's been on a killing spree for decades.  An act of betrayal turns the table on the hunters and suddenly they become the hunted with Dean as the prize.
Relationships: None





	1. Chapter 1

It was a sight to behold. A true wonder of wonders. His brother, the fearless Hunter, was celebrating his latest victory by baying at the moon. Sam winced as Dean’s howling grew in volume and surreptitiously glanced about, making sure the noise wouldn’t attract anyone. Or anything.

“That was awesome!” Dean roared at him.

Sam gave a small nod of agreement in return as he quickly pocketed his cell phone, which now held no less than ten snapshots of Dean cavorting under the full moon. Sans pants and boots. Sam bit his tongue in order to hold in his laughter. Initially, Dean’s idea of evening the score with the hillbilly locals had Sam’s hackles up, but now … well, now he was damn glad he went with Dean’s harebrained idea because moments like this one were too few for the Winchesters.

“Dude, you even here?”

Sam snapped a quick nod, “Yeah, the question is are **you**?”

Dean rooted through his duffle looking for a pair of jeans that could stand another day of usage. “Damn straight I am! Man, that farmer is going to be so pissed when he wakes up!”

Sam ducked his head, pretending to brush off something from his jeans in order to hide his hilarity. “Yeah,” He agreed hoarsely when he caught Dean’s laughing eyes. “It’ll be a sight to behold.”

He didn’t think it was possible but Dean’s grin got broader. “Especially when he sees the bull.”

Sam couldn’t hold back any longer. He sat down on the ground and laughed. Initially it felt almost painful, but after a minute it felt wonderful; like drinking from a creek that just began to thaw from winter. Then he made the mistake of looking at Dean and began howling again as he watched his brother struggled to put on jeans only to realize they belonged to Sam. The trouser’s length had overwhelmed Dean’s legs and the older brother was currently doing a damn good imitation of a penguin waddle as he tried to take off the jeans.

“Shut your hole, you freak.” Dean said without any malice as he finally managed to wiggle out of the trousers.

“Dude, do you know how ridiculous you look?!” Sam managed to gasp out.

Dean gathered his jacket around his broad shoulders with a melodramatic look of hurt. “This isn’t just a fashion statement. It’s my philosophy in life!”

“What might that be?”

“Don’t know yet. Will get back to you once I come up with some cool bullshit.”

Sam’s answer to Dean’s breezy reply was another explosion of laughter. He didn’t see Dean’s wistful smile as the older brother watched him, a helpless captive to the ridiculous situation Dean maneuvered them into.

It was a straight-up salt and burn with the added bonus of the vengeful spirit latched inside a decrepit barn while its corpse was in plain sight and ten yards west of the abandoned building. Once they figured out that part, exorcising the damn thing was easy, especially as they didn’t have to deal with people.

The problem started when they made their way back to the Impala.

In retrospect Sam was surprised they hadn't faced the dilemma earlier in their mordant careers. Smoke would naturally attract curious onlookers, and one originating from an abandoned property would definitely guarantee some rubber neckers, especially in an area that boasted The Annual Maple Parade as its version of Mardi Gras. A gang of local farmers, led by a deputy Sam swore was as a cast member of _**Prison Break**_ , composed the greeting party by their car.

Sam immediately felt his brother tense up, and hoping to stave off a bloodbath, initiated what he thought was a peaceful conversation. His diplomatic services were thanked with insults to him, Dean, their car and their family bloodline going all the way back to Adam and Eve. Fortunately only ill will and curses were spilt, allowing the Winchester brothers to depart in relative peace, though by the stormy glance Dean threw at the rearview mirror Sam knew things were far from finished.

It was only when during dinner, two towns over, that Dean revealed his plans for revenge.

“What?” Sam echoed, his dinner and coffee all but forgotten.

“We’re going back.”

“I heard that part,” Sam snapped. “It’s what came after that I don’t get.”

“What’s not to get? We find the fuckers, and if they own any cows – tip them over.”

“How … what … Dean! We’re not abusing … what the hell is that anyway?”

“Cow tipping,” Dean explained with a frown. “You never heard of it?”

Sam’s eyebrows met his bangs, which wasn’t too far a trip north, then proceeded to valiantly make their way to his hairline. “Cow tipping?”

“You seriously don’t know?” Dean asked with a wide grin.

“No, I can honestly say I have never heard of it.”

Dean then went into excruciating detail of the requirements necessary to fulfill the prank. And Sam knew Dean was being so thorough because he was taking too much enjoyment watching Sam gape at him in unadulterated shock.

“We are not doing it, Dean.” Sam firmly said after listening to Dean’s flourished description.

“Oh yes we are.”

“No we’re not. We could get arrested. Hell, we could get shot if one of those farmers decide to blast first and ask never.”

“Sam, they insulted the car.”

Sam forcefully restrained himself from making a sarcastic comment of the fact that Dean described the Impala as 'the car'. He made it sound as if it was the last functioning specimen of the entire automobile industry. In fact, Sam wouldn’t be least bit surprised of Dean actually did think his car was the **only** decent thing to come off the factory floor in the last fifty so-odd years.

“No, Dean, we’re not. We’ve got a haunting in Concord, and who knows how many poltergeists there are in the State of Massachusetts.”

“Commonwealth.”

“What?”

“Commonwealth of Massachusetts.” Dean corrected. “Get your vocab right if you’re gunning to be the geek freak.”

“We’re still not going cow tripping.”

“Tipping,” Dean corrected. “Man, eat your Wheaties or something ‘cause you’re flailing over there.”

Sam’s reply was a tight-lipped glare.

In retrospect, and Sam’s been having way too many of those since his return to the Hunt with his brother, he should have kept arguing with Dean if only to occupy his brother’s mind. That way they might have stood a chance of getting out of Thurston County before midnight. Unfortunately Sam decided to take the high ground which led to the middle of a pasture loaded with cows. He could have actually enjoyed the tranquility of the scene: the bright moon, the peaceful ambience the cows generated with their soft breaths and gentle wooshes of their tails if it weren’t for the fact they were standing ankle deep in cowshit.

Sam had no idea that you could smell a cow field miles before actually seeing a single cow. That newly discovered fact was nothing compared to the mystery of how Dean could keep from heaving his dinner with the aroma currently wafting around them and doubtlessly saturating their clothes and hair. As Sam watched Dean scout the crowded field he could feel his brain starting its usual imitation of a landmine that just got stepped on. Field of landmines actually. And Dean, his fearless and Future-Darwin-Award-Winner brother, was about to do the cha-cha across the said field.

Dean, without hesitation but with a lot of brunt force, tipped a small heifer. Sam watched agog as the innocent bovine just slumped over. The older Winchester repeated this process three more times before turning his attention to an enclosed field.

Sam stared at what caught his brother’s interest. “Oh hell no, no fucking way,” Sam swore loudly. “You’re going to get killed!”

* * *

  
Three hours later Sam had to admit when it came to pranks Dean was a pro through and through. He also had a good laugh at the thought of the farmer happening upon his bull in the morning. Sam had no doubt this particular mayhem will become a town legend, spawning generations of copycats, to the dismay of local farmers and law enforcement.

They shared a cup of lukewarm coffee after Dean finished putting on his clothes and shoving the smelly used jeans into the laundry duffel. He gave a nod towards the reddish horizon and said, “Come on, sun’s rising and we got miles to burn.”

Sam smiled and got into the Impala. The sound of the engine soon lulled him into light sleep until the ringing of his cell woke him.

“Bobby, what’s up?” Sam asked, rubbing his eyes.

“I got a problem,” Bobby said. “A friend of mine found a hunt and I decided to come along. But I’m starting to think it’s bigger than either of us can handle. We sure could use your help.”

“Not a problem. Where are you?”

“A town called Fore Hills in Washington. It’s located in Columbia Valley. I’ll text you driving instructions. I really need you guys to step on it. The body count’s already too high.”

“Done.” Sam said, now awake and concerned. “We’ll be there as soon as we can.”

“What’s up?” Dean asked when Sam finished the call.

“It’s Bobby. He stumbled onto a bad hunt. I’m getting driving directions now.”

“Where to?”

“Columbia Valley, Washington.”

Dean gave a curt nod and stepped on the gas. Sam anxiously waited for Bobby’s e-mail, not liking the deep worry in the man’s voice. When someone like Bobby mentions high body count Sam calculated the numbers to be at least in the twenties if not higher.

* * *

  
Dean gave a whistle when he saw the imposing two-storied hunting lodge. “You sure this is the place? Doesn’t look like something Bobby can afford.”

Sam compared the address Bobby texted to the house that passed off as a seasonal vacation home. “Yeah, it is.”

Their confusion dissipated when a familiar beaten blue truck waited for them in the driveway. As they got out of the Impala Bobby opened the door and gave a friendly wave of recognition.

“Bobby!” Dean barked, “Moving up in the world, I see.”

Bobby shook his head, “Nah, it’s a loaner from someone who owes me a favor.”

Before Dean could continue his teasing a stranger joined them.

“This is Mac Hathaway,” Bobby introduced his younger companion. Sam calculated the man to be older than Dean by a decade, but it was hard to tell with the baby face complete with baby-blue eyes and receding blond hair.

“Thanks for coming,” Mac said. “We got lunch ready in case you guys haven’t eaten.”

Dean turned to him and asked, “Were you with Jordan when she came across that basilisk?”

Mac smiled, “Yeah, that was me. She told me about you. Said you were one crazy bastard but damn lucky one. Jordan still can’t believe you survived the fire.”

Dean chuckled, “Had no idea the house would go up that fast. It did the job though.”

“I’m sure the people at Norfolk would be glad to hear it. If they ever find out you were responsible for stopping the killings.”

Sam’s curiosity was perked from the moment Dean engaged the conversation. He knew his brother had to have worked with other hunters but Dean was strangely tight-lipped about it. Sam figured it was because so many hunters died that Dean didn’t want to talk about someone who, in all likelihood, was buried in a pauper’s grave or worse.

The group stuck to small talk as Sam and Dean ate. It was only when the meal was done that Mac restarted the conversation about the hunt.

“I know about Dean and your father, but I didn’t know you were a hunter too, Sam.”

Sam blanched a little, “I was away at Stanford for three years.”

“You didn’t graduate?”

“No, I returned to hunting before I could finish my studies.”

“Stanford? Must have good head on those shoulders.”

Bobby saved the brothers from continuing the awkward conversation. He placed a large map on the table, “Here, these red clusters represent the hikers missing just this year.”

Dean whistled, “Six? The total … Bobby, there are more than twenty people who disappeared over the last seven years.”

Sam shook his head, “How could the authorities miss this?”

“We calculated in variables the cops didn’t consider. We also cross-checked the dates of the disappearances with all the calendars we could get our hands on. There are no correlations between the dates. This is purely random.” Mac explained, frustration plainly coloring his tone.

Sam shook his head, “I don’t think so. Maybe we don’t have all the information yet but there’s got to be a pattern.”

“Bobby and I really did our work,” Mac replied sharply.

Dean immediately jumped in, “Not saying you guys didn’t, but Sammy’s got a mind for these things. Why don’t we let him have a swing at it?”

Mac had the grace to look chagrined, “Of course. Hey, if you could find something I’ll be more than grateful.”

“Good, meanwhile I’ll take a spin with the locals, find out what they know.”

Bobby rolled his eyes. “You mean check out the local talents?”

“Bobby, I’m a consummate professional.”

Sam gave a small smirk but kept his peace. By the time he heard the Impala rev up he was already lost in the information spread out in front of him. Even though supernatural creatures didn’t work within a recognizable frame of human logic, they tend to function with a specific purpose – even if only to spread chaos and fear. As he studied the topographical maps of the area he made a mental note to physically visit the spots where the hikers vanished. There was nothing like old-fashioned reconnaissance to jog one’s imagination.

* * *

  
Dean looked at the store with open amusement. It was a one hundred percent, honest-to-goodness general store, just like the one he remembered from _**Little House on the Prairie**_. He strolled inside, half expecting bolts of fabric and wooden barrels full of feed and seed. Instead he was greeted with neat rows of cans and non-perishable items alongside an entire wall of refrigerated goods. To Dean’s relief the woman behind the counter looked more like Xena, the Warrior Princess than Mrs. Oleson.

He strolled around, picked up some medical supplies to replace the ones they used up. To his surprise the back wall was lined with small wine barrels, filled with fresh produce and vegetables. Dean smiled and filled his basket with apples and nearly punched the air with glee when he saw a bin filled with concord grapes. As far as he was concerned they were nature’s version of M&Ms. He made another thorough round of the aisles, wondering if he should bring Sam next time. Dean knew his brother would get a kick out of a place like this.

“Excuse me,” a feminine voice said from his left.

Dean turned to face a woman whose features were so breathtaking he forgot to reply.

“I need to get that,” the woman said, pointing at a jar of hot sauce after a long moment of silence.

“Sorry,” Dean replied, blushing.

“Not a problem,” was the stranger’s polite reply before walking away.

Dean didn’t bother to hide his interest as he checked out the lovely woman. Waist-long curly hair gathered into a neat ponytail, a heart-shaped face dotted with freckles and possessing vivid blue eyes. The package was complete with natural confidence Dean always found alluring.

He also knew he would have no chance with her. She wore expensive clothes and shoes, costly because they were of good quality, not because of the brand. And though they were worn, it was obvious she took good care of them, which meant she had the common sense to appreciate what she had. He figured just her shoes would cost more than his entire wardrobe.

With a small sigh he walked up to the cash register. Hell, he might never have the privilege of checking out if she freckled elsewhere but at least he could enjoy her presence for few minutes longer.

“Did you hear about the last hiker that went missing?” The cashier asked.

“I just heard,” the woman replied. “Another child?”

“Eleven-year-old named Sarah. Came up here with her parents for a weekender. Damn shame.”

“How many is that, Beth?”

“Seven now.”

“Dear God, please tell me the sheriff’s office is taking this seriously. I remember the two last year!”

Beth nodded, “Oh they are now, believe me. I just wish they were earlier. Might have prevented this entire mess.”

“My dad’s never going to let me hike alone now.”

“Sounds like a damn good plan to me. And how is the old tiger these days?”

“Still growling like a wet cat.”

“Don’t be so mean. Your daddy is one fine specimen of manhood,” Beth gave a pointed glance at Dean. “Unlike some.”

Dean managed not to grimace. Obviously his charms would be lost to Xena, the Cashier Princess.

“It’ll be twenty dollars even.”

The woman smiled and handed over cash. Out of habit Dean took a glimpse inside her purse to check the contents.

Definitely out of his league.

“So, what’s your name, stranger?” Beth asked.

“Dean.” He answered swiftly.

“You one of those bounty hunters?”

“Excuse me?”

“There’s a lot of reward money so we’ve had all types rough people come here,” The pretty woman explained patiently. “They do nothing but stir up trouble.”

“Nope, not me. Don’t want to mess up this pretty face.”

“I have to agree with you there.” She answered with an open smile.

“My brother and I are trackers. We also do some hunting for the states and private companies on the side.”

“What kind of hunting?”

“Some people don’t have the common sense to let Nature be, and unfortunately the animals are the ones who end up paying the price for it. We make it fast and painless. And if there are babies we take’em to a sanctuary. They can’t survive in the wild without their mothers. Some folks sell them as pets but that’s just insane. My brother once said it’s ‘perpetuating a vicious cycle’ and he’s right.”

“But what are you doing here?” Beth asked, her hostility gone in the face of Dean’s earnestness.

“One of the families hired us. We’re not here to catch the sick monster that’s doing this. All we’re here to do is track down the missing person and then call in the law if necessary. We’re trained to catch wild predators of the four-legged kind. We leave the two-legged ones for the law.

“By the way, name’s Dean Fallston. My brother’s Sam, and since we’ll be running our asses off searching I can pretty much guarantee we won’t be bothering anyone, maybe ‘cept for a doctor. Hopefully that won’t be necessary.”

Beth gave her friend a glance and something passed between them. Dean waited patiently. He’s seen this before: where the locals judge you to be trustworthy enough to take into confidence, or not.

The pretty woman introduced herself, “My name is Abigail Carnegie, no relation.”

“Relation to who?” Dean asked, puzzled.

The woman’s smile grew blinding. “Don’t mind me; it’s an old joke around here.”

“Let me show you something,” Beth said and unfolded a detailed map. She circled a large area, “This right here’s been dragged through. Ain’t nothing there that’s not been turned over twice. So you might as well look elsewhere.”

Abigail pointed at a lake, “This is where my father’s house is. It’s not a large development but there is a steady stream of seasonal vacationers and visitors because of the wine country. So far we’ve had no trouble but as you can see this eastern section borders on the woods where the disappearances have occurred. From what I’ve heard there’s some interest in this area near the river. Why, I can’t tell you. Beth, do you know why?”

“That’s where the body dump was found. Just some, not all as the sheriff's office has been saying.”

“Have all the bodies been found?”

Beth shook her head, “No, and with this kind of wilderness they probably never will.”

“But like you said, this is wine country.” Dean said, “And with all the tourists, wouldn’t it make sense that someone saw something?”

Abigail shook her head, “Each vineyard has hundreds of acres, some bordering on pure wilderness. There isn’t nearly enough manpower to keep watch. And because we have so many seasonal vacationers the influx of people varies greatly, week by week.”

“So, there’s a good chance more people are missing?”

Beth gave a grim look, “Yeah, something the sheriff’s office won’t even think about. We got enough problems with the ones reported missing.”

Abigail sighed, “She’s talking about gypsy workers, mostly illegal immigrants. Not everyone hires them but some vineyards and a lot of the farms depend on them. Otherwise the grapes and vegetables, not to mention the local apple orchards, wouldn’t be able to survive for long.”

“Because there is no local manpower to meet the demand,” Dean finished the explanation.

“There are mechanized ways of harvesting, of course.” Abigail hurriedly added, “but a few good teams of dozen pickers are unbeatable. Not even the machines can compete with them. And if you’re lucky you get the same families visiting year after year so they become familiar with the area.”

Dean sighed, “They sound like easy targets.”

“They are,” Beth said grimly. “They’re no saints but the ones I know – they’re good people. They sure as hell don’t deserve to be torn apart and left for scavengers to feed on.”

“Have you heard anything from them? Something they can’t or won’t say to strangers?”

Abigail shook her head, “They were too scared. By the time the second hiker disappeared they all left. I guess they were afraid of being made scapegoats.”

“And they must have put the word out ‘cause we haven’t had any new workers come by.” Beth added, “We’re hurting already because of it.”  
  
“Winters here can be ferocious and unpredictable,” Abigail explained. “When the cold snap hits it could wipe out an entire crop overnight.”

Dean shook his head, “Bad business all around.”

“You can say that again,” Beth sighed then folded the map and handed it to Dean. “Good luck to you. I hope you find something ‘cause if it were my boy out there – I’d be in a padded room by now.”

“Much appreciated,” Dean answered before looking at Abigail. “And I suggest you take your father’s advice. Stay out of the woods until this mess is cleared up.”

“I will,” She replied. “The last thing my father needs is more stress. That’s why he moved here.”

“You’re not a local then?”

“No, just visiting. I work in Portland. Where do you live?”

“I mostly travel around, but I’m from Kansas.”

“You know, I think you’re the first Kansan I’ve met.”

Dean chuckled, “Well, hopefully I did my home state justice. I have to go now. You ladies take care.”

Both women watched Dean get into the Impala and drive off.

Beth turned to Abigail and said, “If you don’t tap that I swear I’ll do it myself, Ethan be damned.”

Abigail laughed, “My dad will be heartbroken to hear that.”

Beth gave a snort of disbelief and waved farewell as her young friend left the store.

* * *

  
Abigail reached her father’s house and noticed he had left all the windows open to enjoy the balmy fall weather. She sighed in relief: that meant he was not itching for another round of father-daughter discourse which inevitably led to verbal spats.

She was putting away the groceries when her father entered the kitchen.

“I guess I owe you an apology,” Ethan said.

For a moment Abigail stood still. She then turned to her father and said in a light tone, “Don’t worry about it, dad. You have every right to say what you did. We both know you’re not totally off the mark.”

“Oh, sweetie. Don’t do that to yourself.” Ethan sighed and hugged his daughter. “I just get so twisted inside, thinking about what you’re putting yourself through.”

“There is also the fact I’m your only child so there’s only one way for you to get a grandkid.”

“Cheeky thing,” Ethan said with a smile before kissing Abigail on her forehead. “I’m an old man. I’m allowed to henpeck my daughter into giving me a grandchild to spoil rotten. It’s law.”

“I know,” Abigail said. “I’m sorry about Jerry. I really thought he was … well, you know.”

“Sweetheart, Jerry likes to consider himself a ‘metrosexual’. Whatever the hell that is. I just can’t imagine you spending the rest of your life tied down to a man who has more expensive pedicures than you do.”

Abigail laughed, “That’s so mean.”

“Tell me I’m wrong and I’ll take it back.”

“You know I won’t.” Abigail said then gave her father a sly glance.

“What?” Ethan said warily. “What now? Please tell me you didn’t invite him here!”

“No,” Abigail replied. “I met someone.”

“Oh, hell no. Not another wine-sipping, foie gras nibbling…”

“Dad!”

“Daughter!”

“He’s a tracker and a hunter. One of the families hired him and his brother to find someone.”

“Any names?”

“No, Dean was cautious about that. Didn’t want to reveal any information about his client.”

“A hunter? Not your usual dish, is it?”

“He’s different.”

“How so?”

“Just … different. You have to see him, Dad. He reminds me of old stock. You could place him hundred years back and he would fit.”

“Really? That is new for you. I’m guessing he’s good looking.”

“I think the word ‘dreamy’ might be appropriate. But there’s so much more to him than just a pretty face. I wish you were there, you would’ve liked him.”

“Any chance I might still meet him?”

“Maybe. He’s staying around town so we’ll definitely bump into him.”

“Well, then, I’ll be on the lookout for one dreamy-from-the-days-of-yore Dean.”

“Thanks, Dad.”

“Abigail, now that we had our heart-to-heart will you eat something? You haven’t touched anything since yesterday.”

“I will. Could you make some coffee for me? I bought the kind you like.”

“Consider it done. Eat! Unlike what the magazines claim no man likes their women skinny as a stick. Bony asses are not attractive.”

“Dad!” Abigail cried out in mock outrage as her father snickered.

She made her way into the hallway behind the kitchen and opened a well-worn door with a new bolt. She didn’t need to turn on the switch to climb down the stairs as the open doorway introduced enough light. Abigail made her way into the corner of the basement where a small cage sat. Eyes bright with fear and pain greeted her.

“Hi, Sarah.” Abigail said, her charming smile turning feral. “How are we doing today?”

The girl was unable to respond as her vocal cord had been neatly crushed when Abigail kidnapped her the night before.

“Don’t play with your food!” Her father scolded from upstairs.

Abigail’s smile grew wider and wider until her lips looked like gashes on her face. Then her tongue snaked out and lasciviously licked the bloodless lips.

“You heard what my father said. It’s time to eat, bring on the meat.”


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sam and Dean join Bobby on a desperate hunt for a creature that's been on a killing spree for decades. An act of betrayal turns the table and suddenly they become the hunted with Dean as the prize.

Sam saw the faraway look in his brother’s eyes and knew it had nothing to do with the hunt and probably everything to do with the fairer sex. For a moment he wanted to tease Dean but refrained. It had been less than a month since his brother survived Hell’s version of a collection agency and Dean had been strangely celibate since that fateful night.

Initially, Sam worried Dean was practicing restraint because he was trying to mend his ways. Dean’s attitude towards casual sex always bothered him but Sam really disliked the idea of his brother practicing his idea of sex – which is to say no sex. Dean’s dealings with women were part of what made Dean so funny and frustrating, and Sam didn’t want Dean to alter any part of his personality.

The truth was something even more basic.

Now that Dean wasn’t going to hell, Sam desperately needed his big brother to be even more Dean-like and watch out for him with greater ferocity than he’d ever shown. Sam instinctively knew his fate as the captain of the demon army wasn’t vanquished like Azazel. So he lived in fear that every day he was unwittingly stepping closer to taking the mantle the yellow-eyed bastard set out for him.

“What’s up?” Dean asked with a friendly thump to his brother’s shoulder.

“Nothing, just tired I guess,” Sam replied quickly.

“Yeah, me too. But we have to patrol tonight. Maybe we’ll get blindingly lucky and catch the thing doing this.”

Sam nodded and took a glance across the room to the two men huddled around a map. “What do you think about Bobby’s friend?”

Dean frowned a little. “He feels off. I don’t know if my spidey senses are tingling because Mac is hiding something from us or because he knows something about us. You know?”

“Yeah, Gordon could’ve spread the word about me to more than just a few of his friends.”

“Stick close to me tonight. I don’t think he’s stupid enough to try something with me and Bobby right there, but you can never underestimate how dumb people can get.”

Sam smiled, “Amen to that. One more thing – who’s the lucky girl?”

To his shock Dean blushed and stammered.

“Seriously, dude. Is there a girl?” Sam needled gently.

Dean gave a small shrug. “Name’s Abigail Carnegie.”

“Did you say Carnegie?”

Dean frowned, “What the hell is so special about that name anyway?”

“Nothing. And, so?” Sam asked, wanting information on this mysterious woman who so rattled the professional Lothario that was Dean.

“Nothing is right. We met, we chatted and I left. She’s prettier than a sunset on a beach and way out of my league.”

“Why do you say that?”

“You should’ve seen her, Sam. Well educated, probably has some fancy job in a corner office. I bet her little black book is pretty stacked too. Makes a man want to do great things just to impress her, you know?”

Sam felt a stab of sadness as he heard Dean put himself down with such ease. Somewhere along the line Dean’s self-worth got crushed. Part of him wanted to blame their father but Sam suspected he was mainly responsible for the damage.

When they were children Dean would regal Sam for hours with his version of world history. But, as they grew older, Sam began to take apart Dean’s fanciful tales and pointed out the factual inaccuracies. It wasn’t long before Dean stopped his stories, and soon after refused to discuss anything related to schoolwork. It wasn’t until Sam was stuck in a mind-numbingly boring class on mid-twentieth century American literature that he realized how imaginative Dean was. Putting aside the outrageous lies, Dean had woven incredibly varying facts and historical figures into a tapestry bright with imagination and wit.

Out of curiosity Sam handed in a paper whose plot belonged to one of Dean’s more operatic tales. He received an A- for it. Sam took a glance at the grade then tossed the paper into the cafeteria’s trashcan. The guilt had been too hard to bear.

“She and the cashier, Beth, told me some interesting things though. Did you know they use illegal immigrants as day laborers?”

“Really?” Sam’s interest was piqued. That angle opened up new and terrifying possibilities.

“The problem might been an import,” Dean surmised. “Something the workers brought from their own countries.”

“I’m afraid not,” Mac interrupted them.

“Why?” Dean asked in a genial tone.

“The dates don’t coincide. Half the disappearances occurred when they weren’t around.”

“It could be something they left behind unwittingly,” Sam countered. “Something they can’t control.”

“But then the body count would've been higher through the years,” Bobby said. “Mac and I thought about that, but it just doesn’t hash out. Makes for a damn good argument though.”

“Bobby, what do you think it is?” Dean asked bluntly. “You gotta have something by now.”

The oldest hunter sighed and rubbed his tired eyes. “You won’t like it, but I think we’re dealing with an old, and I mean old, werewolf.”

Dean quickly noted Sam’s pallor and winced. “Why do you say that?”

Bobby opened a book the size of Dean’s chest and pointed at a page. “Werewolves don’t always need the moon to change. Some of them can change at will, regardless of the lunar cycle.”

“They are opportunistic killers,” Mac continued, "so they could be anyone.”

“You mean they can attack during daytime?” Sam was aghast at the thought. He was under the impression lycanthropes were tied to physical laws. This revelation not only shattered his belief but also pressed upon him the dire situation Fore Hills was drowning in.

“But wouldn’t the body count be hitting the roof by now?” Dean remained unconvinced.

“No, the old ones kill for sport, not for need,” Bobby explained. “Murderous – yes, insane - no.”

“So they can control how many they kill and who they kill,” Sam added. “Like the migrant workers.”

“Yeah,” Mac agreed. “We have no idea how many of them disappeared, and there’s a good likelihood we never will. But I’m betting the numbers spread out pretty evenly over the years.”

“So what happened this year?” Dean asked. “If it’s been getting away with it for so long, what made it screw up?”

“Flooding,” Mac answered promptly. “Last year this area faced flooding of record breaking proportions. By springtime the general landscape had changed. And, more importantly, people’s habits did too. There were clean up crews working all over the place for months. There’s some work going on even now.”

“So that’s how the dump site was discovered,” Sam pulled out a folder from a stack on the table. “All the bodies discovered were from earlier disappearances.”

“It might be a vacationer,” Dean said. “Someone who is a repeat visitor to the area. I mean, it’s a cliché but true; you don’t shit where you eat. This bastard might come up here few weekends to get his jollies and then go home.”

“You make it sound like a serial killer,” Mac noted.

“That’s not too off the mark,” Bobby said. “Think about it. Both are predators of the worst kind. Yeah, one is supernatural but still, the idea’s got merit.”

“The big question for now is do we go out for patrol tonight or should we start tomorrow morning?” Sam asked. “Especially if this particular creature has the ability to change at will.”

“Tonight,” Dean replied. “We have to. If this thing’s on a roll it won’t stop because there are assholes with guns looking for it. Ordinary bullets won’t do diddlysquat to a werewolf. So, as far as it’s concerned the buffet table just got bigger.”

“Dean’s right,” Mac agreed. “Bobby and I already have an area scoped out – far from the law and hopefully farther away from those beer-guzzling bounty mounties.”

“I heard about them,” Dean said. “Bad news?”

“Like a case of hives that won’t go away,” Bobby grunted. “Drunk enough to be dangerous and egotistical enough to think they can get away with murder. It’s best to stay clear from them.”

Sam mentally cringed a the thought of hunting a homicidal werewolf during nighttime while dodging drunk, testosterone-poisoned assholes armed with probably enough firepower to _end_ a war. He turned to Dean and saw the look of worry and annoyance flicker across his brother’s face. Not for the first time Sam wondered if they were so in sync with each other their thought process shared the same pathway. It was an unnerving thought, and yet for some inexplicable reason he felt better.

“So, the next big question – when and where do we eat? I checked the fridge and it looks pretty pathetic.” Dean said while eagerly rubbing his hands.

Sam rolled his eyes and shook his head at Bobby who chuckled.

* * *

  
Dean ceremoniously gave a loud burp – his official seal of approval – after he polished off his second piece of chocolate cake. Sam smiled, he had long ago become inured of Dean’s table habits.

“Feelin’ good there?” Bobby asked dryly.

“Man, this is some damn good food.” Dean replied, happily rubbing his stomach.

“I hope you’re filled up ‘cause we got a long night ahead.” Mac said as he finished his coffee. “It’ll be in the thirties tonight.”

“I wonder if the cold might make them sluggish,” Sam said as he finished his wine. To his surprise Washington wine was very much agreeable to his palate, even if he had to pair it off with a meal composed of meatloaf, mashed potatoes and caesar salad.

“There is some lore to that,” Mac said. “Nothing definite but in my opinion temperature does seem to affect their behavior.”

“So it could have several hunting grounds.” Dean frowned. “That would actually make a lot of sense.”

“Let’s not jump to any conclusions,” Sam cautioned his brother. “The last thing we want to is go on a hunt for one thing and be ambushed by something totally different.”

Dean opened his mouth to answer but a couple entering the restaurant drew his attention away from the table. Sam turned to see what his brother was staring at. He was genuinely taken back by the woman standing next to an older man he assumed to be her father. As if feeling their gazes she turned to them and gave a friendly wave. Dean’s response was to blush so hard Bobby and Sam traded knowing looks.

“Hello, Dean.” Abigail said as she stood next to their table. “I see you found our secret. We’re trying very hard to hide the diner from the tourists.”

“I could see why,” Dean said then introduced the table. To Sam’s amusement Bobby displayed courtly manners he had never revealed to the Winchesters. Sam wondered if the older hunter would offer his seat to Abigail out of propriety’s sake.

Abigail introduced her father and small talk followed until the hostess told them there was a table available.

“Pretty gal,” Bobby said, smiling at Dean. “Looks like she’s hanging a star for you, Dean.”

“Maybe after all this over,” Dean mumbled.

“Maybe?” Sam echoed. “Did you take an extra stupid pill today?”

Dean’s reply was a sharp kick to Sam’s ankle.

* * *

  
Abigail didn’t mention Dean and his friends through the dinner and instead kept to small talk. If her father noticed this tactic he didn’t comment. It wasn’t until they were driving back to his house that Ethan spoke about her crush.

“He's quite a handsome devil.”

Abigail’s smile was small but did not go unnoticed.

“And you’re right. He is a hunter.”

“He wouldn’t have had any reason to lie to me, Dad," Abigail protested. "Why…”

“Abigail, he isn’t a regular hunter. He’s a Killer.”

“How? How can you tell?”

“I can smell it on them. They are all Killers, Abigail. And they’re here for us.”

“What do you want to do?”

“I’m growing old. It won’t be long before I face the last sunset. Don’t look at me like that. I’ve lived a long and good life. All I want to do now is to make sure you’re safe, and I think Dean can do that.”

“What? Dad, you just said…”

“Here me out,” Ethan said patiently. “It’s true, his kind is dangerous. However, if we turn him then he can become quite an ally. The others will have a hard time trying to outwit him, and quite frankly I don’t think they’ll have much success. He’ll be able to protect you and your child when the time comes. Something I wasn’t able to do with your mother.”

Abigail gently placed a hand on her father’s shoulder and waited.

“We do it tonight.” Ethan said with a glance out the window. “The moon’s weak and I bet they’re planning to hunt werewolves.”

“Tonight it is,” Abigail said then gave a small kiss. “Thanks, Dad.”

“You’re very welcome.”

* * *

  
Sam quietly shifted his weight from the heels to the balls of his feet. So far he’s seen a buck, three drunken hunters with enough gear to outfit ten, and a fox with two kits.

But no werewolves.

And the foxes troubled him. Nature usually died down to an unsettling quiet when supernatural things roamed, but the wildlife he’s seen so far pointed out the absence, not the presence, of the supernatural.

Sam stole a glance at his brother and found Dean’s head quirked to the side, listening intently. Sam quietly elbowed him. Dean jerked his head to the left and made two curt motions. Sam further focused his senses and then heard it. It was a steady slip-slide noise betraying a systematic rhythm. To him that meant either man or some other predator.

Dean quietly slid to his left while Sam mirrored his move in the opposite direction. They were going to flank the damn thing or force it to choose. Sam knew by experience Dean would become bait. He didn’t know why but supernatural things always seemed to target Dean first before coming for him. He once had joked Dean put out phemerones that attracted trouble of all kinds, both mundane and otherworldly. And this time proved to be no exception.

There was an explosion of leaves and dirt as something huge burst to his left, charging right at Dean. Sam swung his rifle to the charging figure and got off two quick rounds. The thing howled in pain and Sam felt his blood freeze as he realized the creature wasn’t a werewolf.

“Dean!” Sam shouted, “it’s…”

Something took him by the back of his neck and lifted him. Sam felt the claws rip his skin as his feet madly pedaled in the air. He heard Dean cry out in pain and that jarred him into action. Sam pointed the rifle backwards, and though it was aimed at an awkward angle the bullet managed to tear into his captor. He heard a large whine and was released.

Bobby’s swearing suddenly filled the air and there was a hail of bullets as he and Mac charged into the fray. Sam flattened himself onto the ground and watched. The gunfire gave flashes of illumination and what Sam saw both confused and terrified him.

There were two creatures, both nearly eight-feet tall with massive claws and hoof-like feet. But it was their faces that were most frightening. It was as if Nature decided to stop creating mid-way and what was left resembled neither human nor beast. Bobby screamed out a warning and a string of flares lit up the area. That was enough to drive away the attackers. Sam scrambled to his feet and bolted towards his fallen brother.

“Dean!” he shouted when he saw his brother’s eyes focus on him before closing.

“Oh Jesus,” Mac whispered as he pulled aside Dean’s shredded jacket and shirt. The claw marks and numerous bite wounds had dug so deep bones were visible.

“We gotta get him to the car, now!” Bobby said as he unfolded a makeshift backboard.

Sam held onto his brother with both hands and didn’t let go during the entire ride to the lodge. To his relief Dean began breathing normally and there was definite eye movement behind the closed lids. They placed Dean in one of the empty bedrooms, and with Bobby’s help Mac began immediately treating him. Sam forced himself to stay back as he realized Mac had lot more practice with injuries than he did.

“The damage is the worst near the ribs. No big surprise there,” Mac said as he finished cleaning the wounds. “I think we could wait it out here. He might not need a hospital.”

“But if he does, we’re taking him. Sheriff’s office be damned,” Sam snarled.

“We have to be careful. The FBI is still looking for you two,” Bobby cautioned the younger Winchester.

Sam swallowed his reply and telegraphed his displeasure with a harsh glance instead. He remained by his brother’s side even when Mac checked on Dean and informed him that his brother’s vitals had stabilized. Sam didn’t take a break until well into morning when, after some prodding by Bobby, he fell asleep to wake up at three in the afternoon. He quietly trudged to the kitchen for some coffee only to witness Bobby and Mac fighting.

Bobby had cornered Mac against the fridge. “You don’t know that!”

“I know what I saw, Bobby. I’m sorry but…” Mac didn’t finish as he spotted Sam standing in the doorway.

“What’s going on?” Sammy asked, dread pooling in his heart.

“He thinks there’s something wrong with Dean,” Bobby spat out.

“You saw what I saw! It isn’t natural…”

Sam didn’t stay to listen. He whirled around and ran to Dean’s room as fast as he could. He slowly opened the door, trying to make the least amount of noise possible when Dean’s voice greeted him.

“Don’t bother. I’m awake.”

Sam entered the room but stopped after taking a step. Dean was sitting against the headboard, pale but fully conscious. The bandages that had been wrapped around his torso were now rolled into a ball and held tightly in Dean’s hands. He had undone them because they were no longer necessary. The wounds that drove fear into Sam’s heart the night before were all gone. In their place were thin lines and sealed holes. If Sam didn’t know any better he’d say the scars were years old.

“Oh Jesus,” Sam whispered as he approached Dean.

“Yeah, I don’t know what to make of it either.” Dean said, tracing the scars with his fingers. “Part of me is glad my ribs aren’t winking at me but this is just freaky.”

“We washed the wounds out with holy water,” Sam told Dean, “And used dad’s poultice too.”

“Mac told me. Obviously they didn’t take.” Dean said running his hands through his hair – a sure sign that he was nervous to the point of panicking. “Sam, I feel different.”

“What do you mean?”

“I feel lighter somehow. Like if I stepped outside I would be able to run so far so fast not even the Roadrunner could catch me.”

“That’s the drugs talking, if not the half bottle of Cuervo we poured down your throat.” Sam said with forced lightness. In truth Dean was scaring him witless. “Just shut up. I’ll bring you something to eat, then we’ll talk about what to do next.”

Sam made his way back to the kitchen. Bobby and Mac were still arguing so he ignored them. Instead he made a piss-poor sandwich with the meager foodstuff available and poured the rest of the coffee into a mug.

“What are you going to do?” Bobby asked.

Sam didn’t know whom Bobby was addressing so he resolutely had his back to the men.

“Sam…”

Sam turned around, his hands molded into tight fists. “I’m going to make sure Dean eats something. Then _we_ all are going to have a talk about what the fuck happened last night.”

Silence greeted his words and Sam stalked out of the room, not caring for anything else save Dean.

Dean took a look at the sandwich and began eating, though with no enthusiasm. After few bites he put the sandwich down.

“Dean, you have to finish. You lost too much blood last night.” Sam knew he sounded whiny but didn’t care.

Dean muttered, “twenty-five points.”

“What did you say?”

“I said twenty-five points.”

“That makes no sense.”

“It does to me.”

“Care to explain then?” Sam asked.

“I have this thing called Uwhine.org, it’s like Upromise just with your bitching. After certain number of points I get to pull a prank on your whiny ass. Like that time I sprayed you with body glitter while you were sleeping.”

“Dude, that shit didn’t come off for a week!”

“You hit 750 points.”

“You’re impossible, you know that?” Sam couldn’t help but smile. “How the hell did you come up with that anyway?”

“Saw a commercial about Upromise and thought about you. Then the whining thing came up and ta-da: Uwhine.org.”

“I can’t believe you keep a mental count.”

“Well I can’t believe you hit 750 points.”

“You really are an ass.”

“Says a man who complains about hotel shampoo.”

“That wasn’t shampoo, Dean. And I won’t even hazard a guess as to what it _actually_ was.”

“Pussy.”

“Shut up and finish your sandwich.”

“Yes, Mom.”

Maybe it was the banter but Dean was able to finish the sandwich and the coffee within minutes. Sam rechecked the wounds out of habit and made sure Dean was going to stay in bed before leaving. He heard Bobby and Mac talking in a more conversational tone in the den and made his way there.

“I don’t give a shit what you think.” Sam began as soon as he was within earshot, “Dean’s in trouble because we weren’t prepared last night. So I suggest we find out what the hell those things are.”

“They are therianthropes,” Mac said. “I saw a necklace on one of them. Curious thing too.”

“Symbols?” Bobby asked.

“Sigils, more like,” Mac answered, shaking his head. “But nothing I’m familiar with.”

“But not werewolves,” Sam said. “I saw their faces. I’ve never seen anything like them. Not even in Dad’s journal. I looked last night.”

“Could be Native American, especially from these parts,” Mac began piling few books. “I’ve got connections in that area. Let me make some calls.”

Bobby made sure his friend was out of the room before speaking to Sam. “You have to excuse Mac. He’s been dealin’ with werewolves and like for too long. It’s kinda like his specialty.”

“What about tonight, Bobby?”

“If there’s a problem we dose your brother up to his gills and chain him in the basement.” Bobby placed a firm hand on Sam’s shoulder. “Don’t worry, Mac’s got a lot of connections. He’ll find something. Meanwhile why don’t you look through some of this stuff while I go into town for supplies? I get the feeling we’ll be here for a while.”

“Thanks, Bobby.”

“Don’t worry, Sam. We’ll find a way.”

Sam dove into the books with enthusiasm borne of desperation and fear. So engrossed was he in his reading that it was approaching five before he realized the time. He picked up some reading material before entering Dean’s room. To his great relief Dean was flipping through various television programs.

“This is sweet! We got cable!” Dean crowed, “whoever owns this place must have platinum package or something.”

Sam smiled. It took so little for his brother to be happy. He wondered how anyone could be so easy. Then he sarcastically reminded himself that it was so easy perhaps one in twenty million could live such a life. “ESPN?”

Dean nodded eagerly, “Baseball isn’t on though. All that’s on are reruns of Law and Order and all its evil offsprings. That and Top Chef or some such shit on Bravo.”

“The hostess on the show is cute,” Sam said nonchalantly.

“Yeah, she is, but all the food is making me hungry.”

Sam took a glance at Dean, “If you could eat anything, what would it be?”

“Grilled lobster,” Dean said without hesitation. “There was this place in Newport that had the most awesome grilled lobster and spaghetti or linguini or something like that. But it was so damn good. Me and dad polished off the entire thing in less than thirty minutes.”

“When was this?”

“You were a sophomore then. We got a gig at an old hotel that was suppose to be haunted. As it turned out – it was. The new owners had a hell of a time trying to make a living so they called someone and they called us. You know the drill. Anyway, we got to stay for free and the owners were so grateful they sprang for that dinner. It was awesome.”

“You sent me a postcard from there, didn’t you?”

Dean nodded with a small, secretive smile. “Yeah, wanted you to join us. I figured a postcard was the best way to do it.”

“Did you go on a tour? Newport’s famous for its mansions.”

“Why? Not like I care what the Vanderbilts ate and wore while they raped the land. I did go on the cliff walk though. Real pretty view.”

“Wish I was there.” Sam said softly but honestly.

Dean didn’t look at him, only a flex in his jaw told Sam what he needed to know. But it was more than enough. Sam took a glance at the papers in his grasp, giving Dean a break to regain control of his emotions. At first Sam didn’t understand what he was reading. Only when he unfolded the map clipped to a spreadsheet printout did he fully grasp the information in his hands.

Somehow Sam managed to excuse himself and calmly make his way to Mac’s room. He knocked politely before entering.

“What’s up, Sam?”

“You cold-hearted bastard.”

“What…”

Sam grabbed Mac by his throat and slammed him against the wall. “You set us up! You knew, you knew there were two! You fucking knew they hunt in pairs! You used us as bait! Did you tell Bobby what you were doing? Did Bobby know?!”

Mac had a hard time answering as Sam was slowly throttling him to death. He struggled fruitlessly, his vision already graying out at the edges. Suddenly Bobby rushed into the room and separated the two men. Sam whirled to face his old friend.

“Did you know about this?” Sam shouted and kicked the paperwork scattered all over the floor.

“Know what?” Bobby replied calmly.

“Mac lied! He knew there were two creatures. And that means, Bobby, he also knew they weren’t werewolves. Werewolves hunt either alone or in packs. Never two. Your friend used Dean and me as bait last night!”

“Is that true?” Bobby turned to Mac, “is it?”

Mac massaged his throat before giving a weak “Yes.”

“For mercy’s sake – why didn’t you tell us?” Bobby was aghast.

“I knew Steve Wendell,” Mac said stonily.

Sam lost his breath, his eyes wide with shock, and guilt.

“I was actually following your trail right after Steve’s murder when Bobby told me what happened. I believed him but then I found out you were also involved in that hell storm in Wyoming. After that I had to rethink my priorities. I don’t trust you. It’s that simple. Now you may have Bobby and your brother wrapped around your little finger but I can see the truth.”

“And what might that be?” Sam whispered harshly.

“When was the last time you touched holy water, Sam? And I don’t mean using it but actually touching the water. When was the last time you blessed that knife of yours? I know I do mine daily. I have to. What about you?”

Sam’s body was taut with anger but he dared not let loose his rage.

“Yeah, that’s what I thought. Now Dean I can trust. He’s got a solid rep, but you – you’re different. None of the hunters I met had a lot to say about you – good or bad. Just that you were Dean’s little brother, but the truth is you’re more like a shadow than a real man.” Ethan said pointing a finger at Sam. “I also worked with your father few times, and he talked about Dean like the sun shone out of the kid’s ass, but he was pretty silent about you. I bet he sensed you were trouble even back then but because you were his son he didn’t do anything.”

“That’s enough,” Bobby whispered. “I swear, if you don’t shut up God help me I’ll make you.”

“What are those things?” Sam asked, “you must have a clue.”

“Like I said they’re therianthropes. Ancient though, and I mean exactly that. I checked my Native American contacts – got zippo. But I did get something useful: those sigils aren’t sigils. They’re prayer signs from France. Early Christian was what I was told.”

“That’s outright disturbing,” Bobby said, “but that explains why none of the consecrated weapons worked.”

“But the bullets wounded them,” Sam interrupted. “Otherwise we’d be all dead.”

“Yeah, wounded not killed which they should’ve been with the amount we unloaded on them,” Mac said. “Whatever they are they don’t follow the rules we know.”

“Where did they come from?” Bobby asked. “It was like…”

“They were hunting us,” Sam said flatly. “They baited us then went after Dean.”

“Why Dean though?” Mac frowned, “if they knew we were all there…”

“Take out the leader then go after the weaker,” Bobby explained hesitantly. “They knew he’d be the most dangerous.”

“Maybe,” Mac said, unconvinced. “Either way he’s infected and the sun’s going down in less than an hour. I suggest we get him prepped now because those things last night were damn strong. And fast.”

“I’ll talk to him,” Sam volunteered. “He’s not going to take the news well from anyone else.”

Mac tactfully remained silent as Sam left the room. Then he turned to Bobby, but before he could speak the older man brusquely said,

“Don’t bother. Right now the only person who can get through to Dean is his brother. Besides, Sam’s not done with you yet. As soon as Dean is out of the woods you’d better get out of here ‘cause Sam’s through burying people he cares about.”

Mac's response bordered on hysteria. “You must feel it. I can barely stand to be in the same room with him!”

Bobby coldly replied, “Son, nobody in our business is going to win any awards on charisma much less sanity. Just shut the hell up and do your goddamn job.”

Their conversation came to an abrupt end when Sam started screaming his brother’s name.

* * *

  
Sam opened the door, fully expecting Dean to be either asleep or still watching television. When he didn’t see him Sam thought Dean had went to the bathroom located across the hall. He then saw a folded notepaper on the pillow. With trembling fingers he reached for it.

> People ask me if what I’m doing is because we’re brothers. The truth is it’s simpler than that. I choose to be your brother, Sam. Every morning I wake, my first thought is Sam’s my brother. And there hasn’t been one night that I’ve regretted making that choice, even when you went to Stanford. I know you’re afraid of the darkness that we’ve been warring against. Scared shitless that it’s going to eat you up when you’re not watching. I don’t believe that. I’ve seen you suffer, Sam. I’ve seen you bleed for Jess, for Dad, for Ava. Even for me. And it’s beautiful in such a fucked up way, I don’t think there’s a word in any language to describe what I see - the torment a true soul would put itself through because it has a conscience. And that pain, that fucked-up dagger you keep twisting into yourself – that’s what’s going to save you in the end, Bro. Not me. All I ever did, could do, was to help you move on.
> 
> I’m so proud of you, Sam. And I'm grateful that you looked out for me when nobody, not even Dad, did or wanted to. But the most important thing is this: if there’s a heaven, there’s no chance in hell I’ll be there ‘cause I’ll be standing right by your side, doing my usual gig until you’re ready to join us. Trust me on this.
> 
> Fight the good fight, Sam. I will, for you. Always.
> 
> Dean

A cool breeze snatched his attention from the letter and redirected it to an open window. Sam stuck his head outside and spotted his brother running across the clearing with inhuman speed. With animalistic panic he screamed Dean’s name repeatedly before giving chase. Sam heard the others enter the room behind him as he took off but didn’t care. He knew what Dean was planning to do and he wasn’t going to _allow_ it to happen. They didn’t come this far, suffer so much and beat Azazel and the crossroad demon just to have Dean commit suicide.

It was not possible.

It was not fair.

And Dean would never treat Sam unfairly when it came to something that mattered so much to him. His brother loved him too much. Sam was sure of it. All he had to do was catch Dean and remind him of that salient fact.

* * *

  
Dean heard Sam chase him even though he shouldn’t be able to. A part of him was horrified with his newfound abilities, but a growing part of him was celebrating, rejoicing, actually. That part wanted him to run faster, or better, turn and hunt down Sam.

Dean snarled, foams of spit marking the path in front of him. Feeling desperation take complete hold he ran faster. Dean had to outdistance his brother quickly, before the sun totally set. After what felt like only seconds Dean knew he had gained enough distance and time. He looked around, spotted a small hill and climbed its crest. He sat down and made himself comfortable before looking at the vineyards and their neat rows spread out in front of him. The heady scent of the grapes made him dizzy with want and thirst, and for a moment Dean just took deep breaths. He watched as lights began twinkling in the growing dark and smiled.

Without warning his fingers began tingling as if they were thawing from frostbite. With dread he raised his hands. The fading sun lit them and he could see the pulsating growth of claws within. He barely had time to clamp down on his scream. Instead, he curled his hands into fists and closed his eyes, battling down his panic. When he finally succeeded in controlling his emotions Dean opened his eyes.

And saw a different world. Everything was brighter, more hurtful, and the pretty twinkling lights were like pinpricks. Now he knew why they hunted at night. Daytime would be next to impossible because of the pain. Dean closed his eyes again and pulled out the Glock from his jacket pocket. He put the barrel into his mouth. He had to make sure there was no chance of regeneration. The taste of metal was unpleasant and Dean felt his heart hammering. But as his heart rate increased rapidly Dean realized it was because he was changing, not because he was afraid.

Realizing that made it much easier to pull the trigger.

* * *

  
Sam nearly stumbled to his knees when the gunshot echoed in the woods. He forced himself to be still in order to calculate where the sound originated. Then he ran towards that direction. Sam figured Dean must have come across the fucking things again. No surprise there since they were hunting Dean last night. They must have been tracking his brother and made another swipe at collecting Dean. All Sam had to do was get to him and help out before it was too late.

Never mind it was a single shot.

Seriously, when he had a chance Sam was going to beat some sense into his brother. But after the hunt because Dean, Dean was all about the hunt and Sam respected that.

Sam saw Dean’s white t-shirt lit up like a beacon in the dying light. He stared uncomprehendingly as to why Dean would rest in such an uncomfortable position. He approached the figure cautiously, as if he were afraid he’d wake up Dean from a pleasant nap. Sam didn’t touch his brother because that would confirm all his nightmares had come true. Instead, he laid down and studied Dean’s features. For the first time in a long time Sam saw true peace.

It was that which broke him.

_This isn’t how it’s suppose to be. You brought me back from the dead and I saved you from Hell so we could fight side by side. You and me to the bitter end. You promised. You swore._

Sam wanted to reach for his brother but couldn’t, prevented by the crater that used to be Dean’s head. Its contents spewed out onto the grass, coloring the green with bits of red, gray, and speckles of startling white. Sam refused to accept what he saw though. Why should he? Hell, his spinal cord was completely severed and yet here he was.

A movement caught his eye and Sam raised his head. The grief that numbed him boiled into anger. It was one of the creatures and it had come for Dean. Sam grabbed Dean’s Glock and unloaded the clip so fast he smelled smoke. When the gun emptied he pulled out his and did the same. When that didn’t work he pitched the guns at the monster’s head.

It kept coming, taking its sweet time.

That leisurely gait pushed Sam into murderous rage. He unsheathed the knife he kept hidden on his left forearm. No one was taking Dean away from him. Not Azazel, not the crossroad demon, and certainly not this abomination. Not while Sam was still alive.

He charged, his war cry ripping apart the peaceful night air. The creature hesitated for a moment before crouching. When Sam was close enough it swung its fist, catching Sam’s head. The impact threw the hunter ten feet to the left where he landed on the soft grass. Sam lifted his head and squinted, his vision graying out. He watched as the creature tenderly lifted Dean into its arms before walking into the night.

“Dean,” He whispered thinly. “Dean!”


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sam and Dean join Bobby on a desperate hunt for a creature that's been on a killing spree for decades. An act of betrayal turns the table and suddenly they become the hunted with Dean as the prize.

Sam startled himself awake, shouting Dean’s name.

Bobby grabbed him and gently pushed him back into bed. “It's okay, Sam. You’re safe now.”

“It took him, Bobby! We have to get him back!”

“Sam, we saw the mess. What it stole wasn’t Dean, it was just his corpse.”

“I don’t care! It…”

“Sam…”

“No, you’re going to listen to me!” Sam frantically struggled to get free of his friend. “It took his body. Why, Bobby? Why do that?”

“Maybe for a ritual or … oh damn, don’t make me say it,” Bobby said, fighting back sorrow and disgust.

Sam shook his head. “No, that’s not it. I unloaded two clips into it and it didn’t even slow the fucker down. It was like the bullets didn’t do any damage.”

“What are you saying?”

“Dean might be alive.”

“Sam, he used a Glock. You don’t use a Glock to miss.”

“Bobby, we have to find those things. That’s why we’re here to begin with, right? Now we’ll just have to work twice as fast. Please tell me Mac’s got something because if he doesn’t I’m going to waste the bastard for what he’s done.”

Bobby felt honest dread race through his veins. Sam meant it when he threatened to kill Mac. Now, more than ever, he shared Dean’s fear that Sam didn’t come back whole. This warrior fearlessly challenging his leadership was not the same young man introduced to him three years ago. No, this was a stranger with the potential to cause carnage and enough anger in him to not care.

He had no choice now. He had to find Dean if only to gain some semblance of control over Sam.

“All right. Can you walk?”

Sam nodded and quickly stood up. He asked, “What time is it?”

“Eleven.”

“Any reports of missing people?”

“None so far.”

“They’re up to something, Bobby. I know it. That’s why Dean did what he did. He knew something was wrong, really wrong. And being Dean he took the hardest road possible.”

“Now that I can believe.”

Sam followed Bobby to the den. Mac was sitting on the floor, surrounded by books and paperwork. He looked up at Sam, his face pale and sorrowful.

“I’m so…”

“Tell it to someone who gives a damn,” Sam barked, sounding exactly like his father. “What have you found?”

“They are shapeshifters, as we suspected, but older than I first thought.” Mac handed over a small book, its cover decorated with medieval religious iconography. “In the Middle Ages, certain areas of France were havens for these creatures. The local churches needed their help to guard their villages and towns so they indoctrinated them into their fold as protectors. They also gave their blessing so these things could do whatever necessary to defend them.

“It was peaceful for a while, but that changed as the Middle Ages came to an end. By the 1400’s they were hunted down as monsters or demons, with the Church usually leading the mob. The shapeshifters had no choice but to go underground. They're not like the shapeshifters we know. They had the Church’s blessing and magic gifted to them so they could rise again and again. Some of the stories say just one of those things could take out an entire marauding band in one night.”

“Perfect killers,” Sam flatly stated. “No wonder we didn’t do any damage.”

“I’d like to think we were lucky,” Mac agreed. “But something tells me it has nothing to do with luck and everything to do with your brother.”

Sam turned triumphantly to Bobby, “I told you.”

“You really think Dean might be alive?” Bobby asked doubtfully. “Even after what we found?”

Mac shrugged. “All I can say is I got a grocery list of ways these things can’t be killed and maybe Dean’s suicide attempt should be included. Look, they were out hunting us for a reason and that reason was Dean. They found him last night and took him. They exposed themselves, Bobby, and these things are incredibly secretive. That’s how they survived for so long.”

“When was the last time one was killed?”

“Seventy-six years ago. Believe it or not she was a makeup artist working for MGM. They were hunting the entire family but they only got the mother. Five hunters went in, only one got out alive.”

Sam paled visibly. “The child, was it a daughter or a son?”

“Daughter. Why?”

Bobby’s mouth dropped open. He turned to Sam, “You don’t think…”

“I swear, I’m going to slap a chastity belt on Dean when this is over.”

“That Carnegie broad?” Mac asked, “you think?”

“Dean has a history of attracting the wrong sort of women,” Sam said. “Though this one tops the goddamn list. We need to find her.”

“The general store,” Bobby said. “That’s where he met her.”

* * *

  
Dean slowly opened his eyes then immediately regretted doing so as he was blinded by bright sunlight. For a moment he drowned in confusion as he thought he was back at the lodge, and that his suicide attempt was nothing but a nightmare. But when he tried to move his arms he found otherwise.

He was shackled down to a steel-frame bed. With deliberate slowness Dean examined his surroundings. The room was decorated for a woman with luxurious tastes. Expensive perfume bottles littered an ornate vanity table, with a cluster of expensive handbags piled haphazardly on the bureau standing besides it. Dean gasped when he saw a bag sitting in front of the bureau. He recognized it.

“I see you feel better.”

Dean’s head snapped towards the doorway. He didn’t hear Abigail open the door. Where before her beauty inspired him, now all he felt was loathing. As she cautiously approached him Dean noticed her necklace and the medallion she used as a charm. He had overheard the argument back at the lodge and idly wondered how old it was.

With a theatrical sigh he sank back into the bed. “You know I blew out my brains so I wouldn’t end up here.”

“I noticed,” she replied sweetly.

“And that wasn’t big enough hint for you? Man, talk about thick.”

“If it helps any my mother set herself on fire, thinking that would free her. It didn’t work either.”

“Wow, and I thought my family had issues.”

“Don’t we all?”

“I’m guessing your father’s around.”

“He’s recuperating. Your brother wounded him terribly.”

“I hope he dies.”

“I doubt it.” Abigail answered breezily and sat down on an armchair next to the bed. “How are you feeling?”

“I’d say I have a bad headache but, honestly, that wouldn’t even begin to describe the pain.”

“Don’t worry, it will fade soon, and when the sun sets you won’t feel any pain at all.”

“What are you?” Dean asked. “Just curious.”

“We’re shapeshifters.” Abigail smiled again, “But not werewolves as you and your friends assumed.”

“I noticed silver didn’t work.”

“Consecrated silver even,” Abigail said and opened a box sitting on her beside table. She pulled out a handful of bullets.

“You gotta be kidding me,” Dean whispered.

“No,” she jingled them to make merry noises. “Good idea but useless when it comes to us.”

Dean blanched a little. “I’m not one of you yet.”

“Before the night is over you will be.”

“First kill, right?”

“Tradition that must be upheld for obvious reasons.”

“Well then you better finish me off ‘cause I…”

“Have no choice,” Abigail interrupted. “My blood is in your veins, Dean. When the night comes it will sing and you will fall. Not because it’s painful or degrading, but because it’s so sweet and liberating.”

Dean remembered the elation he felt the night before. He could still feel its echo inside his skull, humming like a long forgotten lullaby.

“That’s nothing compared to what you’ll feel tonight,” Abigail said as if she read his thoughts.

Dean looked at her, fear evident in his eyes.

“Don’t worry,” Abigail said. “So many things that you worry about will become trivialties.”

“What about all the people you killed? Are they just annoyances to you?”

“My father’s grown weak. He can’t hunt as well as he used to. So I bring food to him.”

“Is that why I’m here? To replace him?”

Abigail looked thoughtfully at Dean, “That’s part of it, yes. He knows you’ll do everything you can to protect me.”

“What makes him think I won’t end you the first chance I get?”

“You’ll have your answer tonight.”

“And I guarantee you won’t like it.”

“How can you be so sure, Dean?”

“Because I was raised to dust monsters like you.”

“So if you’re so willing to kill ‘monsters’ - what of your brother?”

“What about Sam?”

“What? You think those pitiful bullets could hurt someone like my father?” Abigail ruthlessly pressed through Dean’s anger and fear. “It was your brother’s blood that wounded him, Dean. We are of old magic, blessed by the Church. Demon blood is inimical to our existence, and your brother’s veins are tainted with it.”

“I suggest you go check your current status with the Church, darling ‘cause I’m pretty sure they have rules about cannibalism and ritual murder. Not to mention kidnapping and torture.”

“Torture?”

“You making me have a girly conversation with you. Not even Sammy could make me talk this much, and he’s been at it a lot longer than you.”

Abigail stood up, “I see this is making you uncomfortable. Get some rest. You’ll need your strength.”

Dean waited until he was sure she couldn’t hear his movements. Then he systematically began studying the shackles. They were old and rusted from disuse. Dean figured if the change last night had already affected him to the degree that he was still alive after putting a bullet in his skull, then odds were good that he was also physically stronger. He also wondered if he inherited some other superpowers. Feeling extremely foolish Dean began mentally sending SOS to his brother.

* * *

  
Sam’s earnest eyes and good manners easily won him the information he sought. Looking at Beth’s scribbled note he estimated it would take another thirty minutes of record-breaking driving to reach Dean. And they still lacked a decent plan to rescue his brother, as they were unable to come up with a plan to fight against the creatures and win.

“So, we’re just going to charge in there?” Mac asked cautiously.

“Don’t have anything better,” Bobby answered. “I want Plan B too, Mac, but we’re running out of time.”

“And Dean won’t stand for it,” Sam added. “He’ll do anything to get away and end up pissing them off. They’ll rip him apart.”

Bobby’s anxiety clawed its way higher in his throat. Sam was right, of course. And knowing Dean he’d probably decided to start early in pissing off his captors. That boy had a gift for getting himself ass-deep into dangerous situations.

Mac saw the dismissal from both men and began preparing for the hellish fight ahead of them. He loaded all the guns, including two shotguns, with consecrated rounds. He also blessed all the knives including Sam’s machete. For a moment he was tempted to coat the handle with holy water but refrained from doing so at the last moment.

He really didn’t want to know what the status of Sam’s soul was right in the middle of a life-or-death struggle. He also dipped the tips of his daggers in poison. There was no harm in having a backup.

The lake itself was moderately sized, but the houses surrounding it were anything but. Sam parked Mac’s truck far from view. The three men began making their way to the house, all quietly falling into their particular mode of hunting.

Sam noted the fancy speed boat bobbing next the dock and wondered if he could hotwire the damn thing for a quick getaway if the need arose.

* * *

  
Dean felt his entire body suddenly tighten as if he was about to go into seizure. The pain was bright when it burst inside his skull, momentarily disabling him. As he recovered from the attack Dean felt the change suddenly flow through him. Abigail was right; there was only elation and sweet euphoria. The shackles that held him disintegrated under his assault as he struggled free.

Dean turned to the window and saw the sun was slowly sinking. And with the encroaching night he sensed Abigail’s call. He had to respond. It was all-consuming imperative. With heedless abandon he ran out of the house, feeling the physical changes as his arms grew in girth and length. His clothes fell off his frame like streamers. The remnants of his boots trailed behind him as the hooves tore the soles right down the middle.

* * *

  
Abigail looked at Sam with avid interest. He had cleverly ambushed her while she was taking a stroll. “I wish we had more time to chat but I’m afraid the hour grows short.”

Sam didn’t waver as he stood his still with the shotgun pointed at Abigail’s head. “Where is Dean?”

“Resting I think,” she replied conversationally. “At least for your sake I hope he is. Because if he isn’t then you are about to put the final touches in my father’s plan.”

“What’s that?”

“Dean must spill innocent blood. And though yours is tainted it will have to do.”

“What did you do to him?”

“Gave him his heart’s desire.”

“I really don’t…”

“A family who needs and wants him forever and ever. A family who can truly appreciate all the sacrifices he'll make.” Abigail flatly stated. "Something you didn't do. Your and your father used him like a dog. And then disposed of him when he was of no further use to you."

"Where is he?" Sam repeated, his anger bleeding around the edges of his control.

"Here's your answer." A look of triumph washed over her face.

Sam suddenly heard the noise of bushes breaking apart.

“It was nice talking to you, Sam.” Abigail stepped back until she was out of the clearing.

A blur of tan and brown rushed towards Sam, smashing him against a tree. He collapsed to his knees then heard Dean charging again. He hastily rolled to his right only to find himself cornered by a boulder. Before he could get to his feet Dean was on top of him.

Sam couldn’t stop himself from crying out in horror. It was as if Dean’s face had melted and was in the spongy stage where the lightest pressure from his thumb could leave an imprint. Even his eye color had changed to murky brown. Dean raised his clawed right hand to strike. It was poised high above Sam’s head but didn’t slash down. Instead, it hovered.

Sam looked at his brother then, “Jesus, what did they do to you?”

The question startled the creature and it backed off. Sam hastily scrambled to his feet, his eyes never leaving his brother’s face.

“Dean, it’s me. We’ve come to get you out of here.”

The creature cocked its head, a move so reminiscent of Dean that Sam found himself hoping that he hadn’t lost his brother yet. “Yeah, we’re all here, Dean. We…”

“Need to realize it’s over,” Abigail interrupted.

Sam turned to woman just in time to catch the lightening-quick metamorphosis. She jumped on him, her claws frantically ripping through his thin winter jacket. Sam felt them tear into flesh before he even had a chance to react to the attack.

Dean jumped on Abigail, dragging her off of Sam. The younger Winchester didn’t waste time categorizing his wounds. Instead, Sam grabbed his shotgun and began firing. The shots slowed her down, but it was obvious she was determined to get to him. Meanwhile, Dean grabbed her by the midriff and began propelling her away from his brother.

Sam fired off five more rounds before Dean managed to steer Abigail to the dock. It was then Sam realized what Dean had planned. He began sprinting towards them but it was too late. With one mighty heave Dean threw himself at Abigail and both entered the lake with a huge splash.

Sam frantically searched the dark water, looking for his brother. When Dean didn’t emerge Sam dove in. He swam quickly, as the setting sun was all that provided light for his search. He quickly spotted Dean and Abigail resting at the muddy bottom. Sam had to use all his strength to pry Dean away from his companion as they were entwined like frightened children. After freeing Dean, Sam encircled his brother’s waist and began kicking towards the surface.

As he rose Sam saw his brother change as the sun’s dying light filtered through the water and lit Dean. To Sam’s shock Dean’s face began swiftly reforming into a familiar visage. The body also shrank so by the time Sam hit the surface he was holding Dean in his human form. He took great gulps of air and began swimming to the beach where Mac and Bobby waited. They rushed in when he was close enough and helped Sam drag Dean to safety.

“He’s breathing,” Bobby whispered after checking on Dean. “Lungs sound good.”

Sam wheezed, “The father?”

“Dead. We found him in his bed.”

“What killed him?”

“Haven’t a clue. Maybe something we used? Or a combination?” Mac answered. “We need to get out of here now.”

“Bobby … are there any survivors?”

The answer was a bleak negative. Mac got his truck and drove to the house to picked them up. Sam set the boat on fire to get attention. When the police arrived they would naturally look into the house whose front and back door Bobby left open. It wouldn’t be long before they smelled the putrefaction and searched the basement.

Sam tucked more blankets around Dean’s unconscious form. He wished he could’ve done more for the victims but at least they would find peace and their families a much needed closure.

* * *

  
Dean didn’t want to discuss what happened while he was held hostage. And Sam would’ve respected his decision had Dean at least tried to explain his suicide attempt. But his brother refused to even acknowledge the fact that he blew out his skull. Three days of meandering conversations peppered by stony silence slowly grated Sam’s patience until it was leaf-thin.

The fight erupted when either least expected it – while cleaning out the Impala’s backseat. Harsh words were thrown, accusations were pushed around until Dean’s eyes suddenly rolled to the back of his skull. Sam managed to grab his brother before he hit the ground. Like usual Dean had lied about his state of health and the exertion from the verbal war had weakened him. Sam was left to deal with the guilt, and when Dean came to, both decided to keep a fragile truce instead of revisiting the argument.

The détente stood until dinnertime when Sam made pasta and spinach salad to Dean’s great displeasure. Dean didn’t hesitate to complain and for a while Sam agreed with Dean’s ridiculous accusations, sounding exactly like a hen-pecked husband. That lasted until Dean tried to take over the kitchen in order to make his dinner since Sam had obviously neglected to consider Dean's needs.

“Like hell you are,” Sam snarled, grabbing the cooking utensils from Dean’s grasp. “You’re going to sit your ass down and eat with the rest of us. I made the fucking dinner especially for you.”

“I lost blood, not fat!” Dean snapped. “I need iron and that means meat!”

“Spinach has iron, you idiot! Will you stop being such a selfish asshole and sit down?”

“Me? I’m the selfish asshole? You’re the one who made dinner nobody likes!”

“Really? I’m selfish? Excuse me but I remember you taking off at the first sign of trouble, Dean. You didn’t stick around to see what anybody else had to say about your condition! No, the great fucking Dean Winchester _has_ to go out like a man. Never mind his friends or his brother who would’ve gone to the ends of the earth to find a cure.

“The Great Dean Winchester has fucking decreed it so it must be law!”

“Where the hell is that coming from?”

“You shot yourself, you goddamn hypocrite!” Sam roared.

“Do you know why?”

“No, enlighten me!”

“So you don't have to! Because if you did, that would’ve been just another thing you’d use to torture yourself with. And I wasn’t about to let you use me to rip yourself apart, you jackass!”

“So you blew out your brains because you were looking out for me?”

“Yeah, you dipshit. I sure as fuck didn’t do it for my health!”

“I can’t believe you’re telling me you committed suicide in order to make me feel better.”

Dean paused for a moment before nodding. “Well … yeah.”

“And I’m the dipshit? I don’t know, Dean. From where I’m standing it looks like you cornered all the dipshit genes in the family.”

“Well, with your freakish height, no surprise. I mean the air’s gotta be pretty thin up there. No wonder your brain’s so damn slow sometimes.”

“Will you pups shut the hell up?!” Bobby bellowed from the den. “I can’t believe you’re upset because Sam’s pissed. You ate a bullet, Dean. That would upset even me! And you, Sam! This is the umpteenth time Dean made the ultimate sacrifice for you so shut up and be grateful! And let me enjoy my Mythbusters in peace. Jesus!!”

Sam chewed his lip continuously and glared at Dean while he sliced beef into strips and fried them in the pan. Dean gave a withering glance in return before recording their latest hunt into the journal.

Sam took couple of glances over his shoulder before saying, “So you think it was the water?”

Dean nodded, “Gotta be. There’s a lot of lore out there that says supernatural creatures can’t cross running water.”

“It’s a lake, Dean.”

“Second verse, same as the first.”

“And your cure?”

Dean hesitated, “I think my killing her had a lot to do with it. But, I honestly can’t tell if it was that or the lake that did the trick.”

“Don’t forget, you didn’t kill an innocent and all this happened before sunset.”

“I figured that too. What I don’t get is why the hell did they live next to the lake?”

“Maybe it was the safest place for them. Nobody would think their kind would make home next to the one thing that could destroy them. And because the father was getting on - it was a way for him to prepare for his death?”

“You mean just get up one day and go for the final swim?”

Sam shrugged, “Too many questions and not enough answers. We’re probably the only ones to have dealt with their kind this side of the Atlantic since World War II. It’ll probably be another seventy or even hundred years before they show up on the radar again.”

“Ain’t that a bitch?”

“What really puzzles me is how the father died. His autopsy report said it was some kind of hyperallergic reaction. But what could be so toxic to them? The silver? The iron? The holy water or the runes? Or combination maybe?”

“Who the fuck cares. The bastard’s dead. Good riddance,” Dean said curtly and continuing to write about the hunt, also adding few of his observations during the time of his infection. Sam caught the words ‘release’ ‘happiness’ ‘sense of belonging’ and wondered how much it took Dean to fight for and not against him.

Bobby joined them for dinner and they managed to have a civil conversation. Mac had left earlier with hurried farewells and good lucks. Sam was only too glad to see the hunter go as he was still nursing resentment regarding Mac’s betrayal. Bobby decided to stick around to see how the local law enforcement would tag this investigation. Dean bet a twenty it would go the serial killer route. Sam took the bet with his own prediction of a cult murder/suicide pact. Bobby guessed law enforcement would make nebulous remarks and foist the entire mess onto the FBI, letting the Feds handle the goddamn mess.

Two days later Bobby discovered he won the bet.

* * *

  
Sam surfaced slowly from his dream world, his mind full of fantastical images. However none were fantastical as the current motel room’s décor. It was something straight out of the 70’s blaxploitation film. When he and Dean first opened the door, Sam half expected the theme song to Shaft to begin booming out of the radio. He wryly noted the room was only too appropriate for Dean since he already had the pimpmobile. Dean’s response was an eye roll and the one-fingered salute.

Wondering why Dean left so early for breakfast Sam stumbled into the bathroom to get ready for the day. It was then he saw the reason for Dean’s early departure.

Across his forehead was the word ‘princess’ and underneath it ‘275 points’. Sam just knew Dean used a Sharpie to get his point across. Having no choice Sam dug into his duffel to find the Seuss-inspired wool beanie Dean bought for him as a gag gift. He would have to wear it until the ink finally came off.

Payback wasn’t going to be a bitch. It was going to be a raging bastard with shitty fashion sense.

Sam was looking for his wallet when he came across his father’s journal open to a new page with Dean’s writing. Out of curiosity he began reading the list of names Dean had scribbled.

1\. Lucas Barr  
2\. Michael – better call and see how Asher’s doing.  
3\. Ben Braeden

Sam’s confusion did not dissipate as he reread the list. Why would Dean write down the names of the kids they met along the way? Then he remembered: Lake Manitoc.

“Name three children that you even know.” He had challenged Dean.

Since then Sam came to understand that Dean actually liked children, and probably preferred their company to some of the adults who crossed their path. And, surprisingly, they returned his affection wholeheartedly.

But this list was even more special. These kids lived because their lives came into contact with him and Dean. Sam added a fourth name:

4\. Sam Winchester

Sam was going to hunt down Dean so he could kick dipshit’s ass across town. But not before he bought Dean some coffee. And, if available, maybe a reuben sandwich.

**The End**


End file.
